Sandy's SpotlightVIDEO BOOK SPOTLIGHTSister Hoods, Book 4 in the Portals SeriesbyP.L. Blair

I'm excited to introduce you to author, P.L. Blair. She has written one of my very favorite fantasy series, The Portals. Her latest book is Sister Hoods, the fourth book in that series. I've just started it, but I was hooked, once again, from the very first page. I'll post a review next week.

P.L. Blair has sent a video interview discussing Sister Hoods. Enjoy!

Excerpt - Sister Hoods, Book 4 in the Portals Series:

“More than that.” There was a hint of a smile in the Wizard's voice – and on his lips when Tevis darted a glance at him. “You love her in … more than a brotherly way. Have you told her?” Tevis felt his eyes fly wide, and he pushed back in his seat. “No!” He shook his head. “I would not … No.” A headshake emphasized the word. “You think she doesn't love you.” “I hope she does not!” He sighed, forcing taut muscles to relax, and sat forward again. “I do not want to test it, Arvandus. I cannot do that to her!” “Would it be so terrible? Humans and Elves have made lives together.” “Yet seldom, if ever, has it been what Humans call a … a happy ending. You know that, Arvandus!” He studied the Wizard's impassive face. “Humans' lives are as fleeting to Aalfar as that of a mayfly to them. Kathryn will grow old, and … and I will not.” He shifted his gaze to his hands drooped over his knees. They did not betray the feelings churning in him. He could not … love Kathryn … that way. Never … that way. He could not allow himself to even think it! “What pain would that bring her, Arvandus, to see – to feel – her youth and beauty and strength slip away, while I remain unchanged? Humans are doomed to death from the very moment of their birth! I would, by my very presence, be a constant reminder to her of how short her own days are. And ... “And,” he drew another breath, watched his hands contract into fists, “there is … my own selfish desire to … to not see Kathryn growing older, growing old, knowing there is nothing I can do to help her – to see her make that final journey where I cannot follow. I am,” he lifted his head to again meet the Wizard's gaze, “I am not certain I can do that.” Arvandus too sat forward. “What will you do, then?” The Aalfar looked away again, stared at the earth moving beneath them. It was too late … He had already given his heart to the Human woman who was his partner. He drew a breath and softly, slowly released it. “I … do not know.”

*****A personal note from Sandy: YEAH!!!! I'm so glad these two characters are moving into a romantic relationship. They're perfect for each other. This makes me very happy!

Click on the book cover below to be directed to the Amazon purchase link for all the Portals books:

Sister Hoods Blurb:A bank robbery in Rockport, Texas, sends Corpus Christi police detective Kat Morales and her elf partner, Tevis, in pursuit of a band of nymphs and satyrs. The answer to their initial question - why nymphs and satyrs would rob a bank - only leads them into a deeper mystery in an enchanted woodland on the South Texas coast. And while he and Kat try to save the woods from an evil wizard and a deadly wyvern, Tevis finds himself engaged in a personal struggle with potentially disastrous consequences: He is deeply, irrevocably in love with his partner ...

If you haven’t already, meet Madison Knight, the chocolate-loving detective, who is determined to solve murder and find justice for the victims—even if that means coming into contact with the sight of blood. However, in Found Innocent, the latest release in the series (releasing October 16th!), she doesn’t have to face too messy of a crime scene, at least in one sense. What she does have to deal with is whether or not she’s willing to jeopardize departmental relationships and cross the wall of blue. Here, this is what it’s about:

There's one code when it comes to the wall of blue…and Madison Knight may have to cross it. Any good cop knows you never report a brother for mishandling a case or accuse him of misconduct, but in order to find justice, Madison may not have a choice. Lacy Rose had one goal for her twentieth birthday—to be found innocent of past sins—but her life is cut short. When Lacy's remains are found in a garden and the investigation becomes connected to a closed case, Madison must face her past. The lead detective on that case was Madison's ex-fiancé. At the risk of jeopardizing departmental relationships, and churning up the attention of an old flame at the same time, Madison must push hard before the guilty are found innocent.Excerpt, Chapter 1: “He didn’t do it!” The hysterical shouting pulled Madison’s attention from her monitor to a woman rushing toward her. The station was supposed to be quiet today. Sunday. She wasn’t required to be there, and that made it the perfect day to dig into her cold case. She was so close to getting answers. With one more longing look at her screen, Madison rose from her chair and held up her hands to stop the woman. “Detective Knight.” She stated this as if they had met before. Officer Ranson, the female officer who manned the front desk, came up behind them. “Come on—” Another officer brushed past Ranson and slipped his hands under the woman’s arms. “Let’s go.” He pulled on her, but she stayed still. Her eyes steadied on Madison. “Please help me.” She attempted to shake loose from the officer’s grip. Her frown lines were deep burrows, her eyes were sunken, and the flesh around them was puffy. She appeared to be rough-edged, but there was something desperate about her, and she didn’t seem to be a threat to the lives of anyone here. “I’ve got this,” Madison said. “All right, your call.” The male officer let go of the woman, and he and Ranson left. “I saw your face in the paper.” The woman held up the Stiles Times. “It’s you, isn’t it?” Her lashes were caked with mascara, and she blinked slowly. Madison wondered if the cosmetic had sealed her eyes shut. Madison passed a glance to the paper. It captured a moment she wished to forget. A day when she had been forced to speak in front of a crowd and to take pride in the job she had done. The thing was, though, a good cop couldn’t care less about the recognition. The woman sobbed, yet her tears didn’t affect her makeup. “He wouldn’t do this…” Madison summoned patience. A list of envelope-printing companies—which could prove to be a vital link in the chain of evidence against the Russians—would be on her monitor, right now. She took a deep breath, passed another glance to her computer, and turned back to the woman. “Come with me.” Madison kept the woman to the side of her. Her first impression was the woman didn’t pose a threat, but she still wasn’t willing to sacrifice her back by leading the way into the room. Inside, Madison gestured to a chair. The woman dropped her red bag heavily on the table. It was large enough to serve as a duffel bag. She pulled off her jean jacket, folded it over the back of the chair, and revealed a pink sweater that displayed more cleavage than Madison could ever hope to see on herself. The woman went rooting through the duffel bag and she stuffed a stick of gum in her mouth. She worked at chopping it into a soft, pliable distraction. It snapped in her mouth. “Let’s start with your name—” “Vilma with an ‘i’. Vilma Thorne, well, it would have been. My God, Kev!” She raised her face upward as if calling out to a Greater Being. Her gum chewing paused only momentarily. “Vilma—” Madison had to tune out the noise and the display of her open-mouth chewing. “Let’s start at the beginning. Why are you here?” Vilma stuck a finger through one of the large gold hoops dangling from her ears and leaned in. Madison detected the blend of cheap perfume and cigarettes. Maybe—she inhaled deeper, trying not to appear obvious—it wasn’t perfume but whiskey. It was hard to discern. Her eyes appeared normal, except for the abuse of eye makeup. Besides the thick mascara, her lids were weighed with the color purple. Her pupils weren’t dilated or pinpricks. Still, she didn’t respond to Madison’s question. “Okay, Vilma, if you need my help, I need you to talk to me.” Possibly this woman was on a new line of drug that disguised itself behind brilliant colors? Maybe this was a mistake and Madison should have let her get hauled away. “My family is against what he did. But he didn’t do it!” Her voice rose, tears flowed. She stopped chewing and, sniffling, went rooting in the duffel bag again. She came out with a bunched up tissue and wiped her nose. Madison’s tolerance level had almost reached its limit. “You keep saying he didn’t do it. Do what?” A tissue still pinched on the tip of her nose, Vilma said, “He didn’t kill himself…someone killed him.”Interested in reading more?Amazon USAmazon UKBarnes & NobleAppleKoboThe Madison Knight Series is a clean, murder mystery series meaning mild graphic violence and language. Each book is self-contained so you can read any of the books, and out of order, if you wanted to. Books in the series in released order: Ties that Bind, Justified, Sacrifice, Life Sentence (Prequel in which Madison has a cameo role), and Found Innocent.

Anne Carlisle, Ph. D., is an award-winning author. The Siren's Tale is the most recent release, from LazyDay Publishing and available on Amazon, B&N, and ARE. It is the second novel in her Home Schooling trilogy, paranormal-romance novels for New Adults which feature the sexual exploits of sirens in human form as they emerge into adulthood. Carlisle holds a doctorate in 19th Century British Literature from Case Western Reserve University. Currently Professor and Course Chair at the University of Maryland, she teaches college writing worldwide to U.S. military students. Formerly, while working as a newspaper columnist, magazine editor, and theatre reviewer, she authored a book on writing, wrote hundreds of articles, and was awarded prizes by the ANPA and the National Writer's Club. She also served as a dean for Golden Gate University in San Francisco. She works from her homes, in Seattle, Key West, and Wilmington, NC.

PREFACE My name is Zoe Augusta Drake, but I go by Zaddie. Today is supposed to be the end of the world according to the Mayan calendar, but so far, so good. The winter solstice is a special day in our family. Cassandra, our most controversial ancestress, was born on December 21, 1880. She died at age ninety-six on December 21, 1976, on the same day as her only son. On the solstice of 1977, during a rare family reunion, Marlena Bellum, our mother, was told Cassandra's secret story and ultimately decided to continue with her unexpected pregnancy. This solstice is a marker for me. Six months ago I published the first book in a trilogy, which is collectively entitled HOME SCHOOLING. Today I finished the second book and am beginning work on the third. The end is in sight. Woo-hoo! I began composing the books as an adolescent, soon after I discovered mother's journals in a folder entitled "The Pink House" at the bottom of an old trunk in our attic. We were living exclusively in Alta, Wyoming then, and my idea was to memorialize our family history for posterity. It was about the same time the trouble began between mother and my twin brother, and after a while I put away the project. I had formed the writing habit at an early age. I began talking with the dead at two, writing down their stories at three, and reciting them from memory at five. As a result, I blush to say, our mother pronounced me "a prodigy with an old soul." But Grammie Bellum said I was a fibber. These days, it is not that uncommon for teens to publish fan-based fiction, and I am no longer a precocious redheaded adolescent (though I am still red-haired). On the first book's publication date I turned thirty-four, along with my twin brother Gordie, whom Grammie once described as "gloomy, grand, and damned peculiar." Grammie Bellum is dead serious in her opinions, and I love her too much ever to contradict her. I would give an arm for her. I love everyone in my family that way. Sometimes it is a chore to love them so deeply, but when I think about the alternatives, they are not so good. There is too much hate in the world and lots of room for unconditional love. I often give my readers that advice, but I wonder if they take it. My day job is writing an advice column for young women. "Rules of engagement for the chick lit generation," the New York Times Book Review has called it. My monthly column first appeared a decade ago as a hoax. Here is how that went down. I wrote a private letter containing heartfelt advice to a desperate friend back in Wyoming, that was filched by my prankster brother from the mailbox at Sally Honeywell's mansion in Key West, where we were staying. Gordie typed its content into a "Dear Abby" format, falsely attributed authorship to local psychic Sioux May, and sent it to the city desk editor of the Key West Citizen. The editor was on deadline, and she published the column without checking with Sioux May. Even after the hoax was disclosed, the readership refused to go away. Now the audience for "Ghost Orchid" is worldwide, from South America to the South Bronx. My column is named after a tropical plant that derives its nourishment from air. Full disclosure: my books are not derived from thin air. That trick is seriously difficult to pull off. They stem from my home schooling and are indirectly related to a seminal work published in 1978, Home Schooling: How to Build a Happy Home/life. It was co-authored by our mother and her mentor, our dearest old cousin, Dr. Chloe Vye. They wrote their book while Gordie and I were in utero. It is part psychology and part home-building advice; a must-read for architects, who spend as much time handholding their clients as they do designing rooms for them, according to mother. My books are part family history and part bildungsroman. "Educational journeys undertaken by women to fathom the power and responsibility of sexual allure," in the words of one reviewer. In plain English, I write for women who are trying to navigate the hookup culture with the Bible in one hand and Fifty Shades of Grey in the other. All four works, mother's and mine, focus on the importance of homes: building happy homes, rescuing historic houses, and surviving homecomings. They also have to do with schooling. But, there is no connection to the popular practice of keeping children at home for their education. In Marlena Bellum's opinion, "that kind of home schooling is too often aimed at conforming the young mind to the principles of this or that religious system, thus defeating the purpose of education, which is to lead the mind away from narrow indoctrination." With the notable exception of Grammie Bellum (her first name is Faith!), the women in our family do not go in for organized religion. Mother says we are "unrepentant pagan spirits, attracting that which is unexpected and unsanctioned." I believe she is referring to events in the family history that cannot be explained either by traditional religion or traditional science. You see, I come from a long line of non-conformist women with voracious sexual appetites and gifted with paranormal powers. Let's call us sirens. An early siren in our line was a young red-haired courtesan who was painted and bedded by the great Tiziano Vecellio, more commonly known as Titian. Their love affair ended with Titian's death in 1576. She carried on with tonsured members of the clergy, only to have her temptress career cut short by a papal Inquisitor. He pronounced her an agent of Satan and axed her in half to avoid looking her in the eye. At my second birthday party, a beautiful, red-haired stranger appeared in Dr. Chloe's vegetable garden. She and I had a short conversation. That was the start of my home schooling. Mother acknowledged that the woman was the ghost of our ancestress, Cassandra. Two years ago, after a rather long absence, the red-haired ghost appeared to me again. This time, she introduced herself formally, beginning with these words: "In life, I was Cassandra Vye, born Cassandra Zanelli in 1880. I come from a proud and ancient line of sirens in human form. Home base, the Italian Alps." Her introduction was a nice gesture, I thought. Mother taught us always to be polite, and though Gordie has no use for etiquette, even he would have enjoyed her narrative. As children, we were told little about the controversial figure; only that she was the mother of Dr. Chloe and had four names. She was born Cassandra Zanelli, then re-named herself twice, taking the name of Cassandra Vye, in 1899, and eventually a nom de plume, Nevada Carson. During the brief time she lived in Alta, she also had a married name, Cassandra Brighton. Eventually Mother did admit Cassandra was controversial because of being a "bounder," which is an archaic but apt term for a runaway wife. Our siren ancestor was "assertive" long before the term was invented by modern feminists, and therefore she was grossly misunderstood. Cassandra was distinctive for other reasons. For instance, she anonymously funded a number of cultural institutions in Alta, including a large regional arts center where, as a toddler, I played my baroque zither in a public concert. Before we were born, mother rattled some local cages by making facts known about Cassandra Vye's anonymous generosity. This exposure was a controversial move in the extended family, one that was hotly contested by Marlena’s mother. "Our practice is to debate key issues. Afterward, your mother goes out and does exactly as she pleases." That is what Grammie says, and I would agree there is truth to her observation. Because of mother going public with Cassandra’s anonymous generosity and the inference we were proud of her legacy rather than ashamed of her notoriety, we were obliged to live somewhat reclusively in what mother has always called "the pink house" - an old Victorian frame home dating from homesteading days. As the Casper Star-News wrote, "Thanks to the persistent efforts of architect Marlena Bellum and her powerful preservationist friends, Lila and Bryce Scattergood, Alta has a higher percentage of rescued historic homes than any other frontier town of the Old West." Our beloved pink house is one of them. According to Cassandra's ghost, her good works were anonymous because the natives of her time hated and feared her, dead or alive. This generalization brings me to the most distinctive thing about her. In 1900, not long after arriving in Alta, she was branded in church by a local witch-hunter as a force for evil. Later, she was accused of being a murderess, even by her husband, and driven from town. The ghost told me her version of the story, which is included in the pages that follow. The villagers blamed her for four deaths between 1901 and 1917. She said they were owing to a family curse that was "fiendishly devised to end our siren line." To this day, most in Alta remember Cassandra as a common slut, and some believe she was an evil witch. Elsewhere, she is star material. Under the pseudonym of Nevada Carson, she prospered as an actress, writer, and producer for the film industry until her death in San Francisco. But all are somewhat mistaken. Cassandra Vye was a true siren. Cassandra says I am a siren, too. "The green twig on a dying holly bush," she sings to me in my dreams. Her lyrics are accompanied by the plink-plink-plink of a zither. I will be the last of our siren line, unless I manage to do what my mother did and reproduce a siren offspring. No pressure there. LOL. December 21, 2012 Key West, Florida

THE SIREN'S TALE BLURB:

It's 1900 in remote Wyoming, where a smart young siren in human form falls into a trap. Because of a curse, her lover may die if she acts on her passionate instincts.

The novel is a new take on speculative fiction, treating real coming-of-age issues of choice for modern young women and meanwhile weaving a cautionary tale of paranormal romance and terror set in the distant past. This is the story of a group of sirens, told in part by the ghost of the main character, Cassandra. The sirens are creatures who are part human but who have strange powers and skills. Cassandra's love life in the Old West results in a curse which passes down the generations. A family of paranormal women, an ancient lineage of sirens in human form, are threatened by extinction, unless Marlena, the youngest, carries her pregnancy to term in 1977. Cassandra, the siren ghost, tells Marlena her own story, how back in 1900 in Wyoming, she followed her passion rather than a code of human values. Falling into a trap, she brought on the family curse and disaster. Now the men loved by the sirens are in danger of an untimely end.